Slipping
by Darija
Summary: For Jack, taking up an old sport turns into something more.


One day, out of the blue, Jack started talking about a rodeo contest that was going to be held in his hometown and announced he was entering. He quit rodeoing years ago but he sounded eager enough to return to it for one final try. He looked over at him as if gauging his reaction, a silent plea in his eyes for Ennis to come watch him but said nothing, and Ennis was content to say nothing back. 

He didn't seriously expect him to drive all the way to where he'd be just to see him like...like Jack always did for him, he realized as guilt over that truth overcame him.

And later he was on the road towards Texas. The process of making the decision was vague in his mind. He remembered staring at a red-circled day on the calendar thinking of the resignation of Jack's non-question, and when the day came all he wondered about was what the weather would be like and how much gas would he need to make the drive.

Ennis situated himself between a rather large group of people, hoping Jack wouldn't notice him just yet. Maybe it would affect his performance if he knew Ennis was watching so he planned on surprising him after he made sure Jack came out alive and unblemished.

He imagined the look on Jack's face when he saw him, open-mouthed and disbelieving. The first few moments anyway. Then his lips would curve up in a genuine smile that would make it difficult to resist kissing him on the spot. Just the thought of it made Ennis smile as well, albeit unwillingly.

When it was Jack's turn to ride he fully planned on directing his attention elsewhere but surprised himself when his eyes stuck to the sight of him enduring the rage of the scorned animal and it's whirlwind of kicks. That glint of mischief he got in his eyes when he didn't particularly care about consequences.

He relished in the beast's anger, legs not budging from it's sides with one hand holding onto rope and for dear life, his other in the air to keep balance, on top of things in more ways than one.

Jack was thinking with surprising clarity given the situation. _Come on, do your worst,_ he thought as if the animal whose back he was on could hear him. _You think you're angry? I got a block a ice for a wife and a son I didn't want. My job's as dull as they come, I'm a fuckin salesman. Not that it matters that I'm a pretty good one since L.D. wouldn't appreciate God himself offerin to work for him. All I got to be happy about are stolen weeks, sometimes less, when I go up the mountains to meet a man I can't give a name to 'cause whatever I might want a call him I couldn't speak aloud. So maybe if I got my skull crushed ridin you today it'd all be over and I could find some peace._

Ennis wondered briefly who or what was this display of skill for but lost the thought when the bull had just about enough of horsing around and sent it's tormentor on a one-way ticket to the ground. It's hooves missing his rib cage by a stroke of luck and poor accuracy.

Ennis started, rising to his feet involuntarily and the spectators around him misunderstood this action as standing up to get a better view and maybe applaud so they all stood up as well. He listened as the crowd cheered the rodeo cowboy, glorified for his near death and suddenly felt violently ill. The scene reminiscent of a gladiator arena.

Why were they celebrating Jack barely escaping a fatal injury when they came knowing, perhaps even expecting him to get trampled? Where was the honor in risking his life for money and recognition he didn't need?

This was a mistake. He had to leave now. He couldn't stand to be there longer than it took to make his way through the crowd and outside. So he started pushing through the thick layer of people he didn't know and couldn't care less about inconveniencing. Not looking back and ignoring the offhand comments he received, such as "Watch where you're goin dumbass!" and "What the hell's your problem?"

After a mad dash to safety and promptly dusting himself off, the winer went to collect his prize on shaky legs, accepting a generous amount of cash and a shiny belt buckle with a prideful smile. Chest heaving and limbs hurting in the aftermath of a battle lost slowly enough to be deemed worthy of high praise. He turned to the stands and offered a gracious view of his bounty, waving over the strange faces as if he knew them by acquaintance.

His mind then pulled a recurring trick, making him see hunched shoulders and strands of hair tucked beneath a hat that often served as companion to the man playing the leading role in his daydreams. He was scurrying out of the finished competition and his line of sight. Jack let out a weary sigh, sure that the man he saw was not the one he wanted it to be. Wouldn't be the first time his wishful thinking got the best of him.

He had set out to get himself injured, badly; not bothering to prepare for the strain required. He wasn't quite sure what he hoped was going to happen, but he figured it was something in the lines of making Ennis understand there were other ways to get beaten besides being mauled by madmen who possessed tire irons, and possibly make him want to spend more time with him if he was reminded of how short life could be.

That was, of course, if he could get him here in the first place. He didn't need to ask to know what his answer would be though, so he let it be. Since he already applied for it, he'd do his part. But when it was his turn he remembered how Ennis found the idea of coming to watch him nothing short of ridiculous and had actually wished to die.

Whether it was under the pressure of the bull's body or from the force of the inevitable fall, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered if Ennis didn't even care enough to worry over him rodeoing when he hasn't done so in years.

Walking to his truck, Jack had to marvel at his twisted fate. Not only did he leave without a scratch, he won. That might have been God telling him not to expect to carry out his stupid ideas. His time wasn't up yet and he had plenty of suffering to go. He didn't know whether to be relieved or cry out of frustration.

He was in no hurry to get home so he lit one of the cigarettes he kept in his pocket, leaned against his vehicle's side, idled away the minutes.

Home, where you couldn't be happier and where you longed to be when you weren't. Childress wasn't his home, it was a waiting room. Where he had to reside on the way to the place he wanted to be, sitting and watching others take their turn but his never coming. And as time ran on he was increasingly aware that he might never get his turn.

His eyes scanned the parking lot lazily. Parents forcing their children into cars even though they didn't want to go yet, it reminded him of the children they had who weren't born out of love. A married couple whispering into each other's ear while taking their time to walk hand in hand, this made him green with envy; they would never hold hands. Ennis starting his truck and about to leave...

Jack gave a little jump as he fixed his gaze on the man ready to go. The cigarette in his mouth could have been made from lead and he wouldn't notice. He almost called Ennis's name when the engine roared but held back, convinced it couldn't be. Soon there was only dust where the oddly familiar pickup had been and there was no second chance to make sure if he was hallucinating or not.

Jack wished Ennis's shadow didn't follow him around every corner. But supposed he had only himself to blame for not censoring his thoughts, wasn't making his life any easier. He got to see Ennis few times a year but in his mind he was always with him.

Still, there was no way Ennis was among that crowd. Because if he was that would make the distance they kept between them even more pointless than it already was.


End file.
